GOD LIVES UNDER THE BED


I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At
least that's what I heard him say one night.

He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to
listen, "Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see.
Under the bed..."

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique
perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night
something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the
first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of
difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2),
there are few ways in which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old,
and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives
under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space
under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the
sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.
Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the
disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his
favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers
excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her
newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied. He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of
simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove
before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our
dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad
takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes
and, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.

"That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he
does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food
he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that
one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is
working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his
heart is completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not
leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done,
Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart
is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept,
and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not
afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is
always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he
comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends
with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to
grasp. God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy
the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine
knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the
handicap . . I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my
circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust
them to God's care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all,
he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying
after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of
God.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all
amazed at how close God really is to our hearts,
I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who
believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all!

When you receive this, say a prayer; a prayer for the simpler things in life and the many blessings we all have. That's all I ask of you.


FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US TO OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS HAVE TROUBLE REMEMBERING HOW TO FLY.